


Flowers For A Ghost

by DilophoLehnsherr



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Angst, Grief, Iron Dad, Other, Plot-centric, Science Bros, Tragedy, as a side pairing, dad tony, hoo boy im so bad at tagging lets go uhhh, most definitely add more tags as this goes on
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-05
Updated: 2018-05-20
Packaged: 2019-05-02 17:10:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14549403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DilophoLehnsherr/pseuds/DilophoLehnsherr
Summary: Griefnoun1. intense sorrow, especially caused by someone's death.May had always been his anchor, his last parental figure since Uncle Ben's death. What is Peter to do, burdened with the knowledge that she could have been saved, had she not hid her illness from him, not sacrificed her life just so he could have, what, college tuition?It really was all his fault. And that kind of self-blame whips up a perfect mentality for a guilt complex.But what is one to do, when left the last of his family line as a teenager, in a place like New York City?Needless to say, it gets a little worrying when Peter's catalog of enthusiastic hero notes suddenly stop appearing when Tony checks for them.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hiya fellas tis i,,, that asshole that has too many story ideas and not enough discipline to finish projects before starting NEW ones!!  
> My angst junkie ways return in this one, which is a heavily Peter-centric fic so if you came for the Science Bros, they're my primary Marvel ship too, and there will be content with them, but they are very much sidelined to Peter. The main relationship dynamic I wanted to explore as well is the parent and child one that Tony and Peter have in the MCU.  
> Also, Infinity War never happened right??? and i mean in the comics Adam Warlock saves everyone and restores everyone's lives that were lost to Thanos's weird incel obsession with Lady Death so....

It’s strange, how the human brain processes grief. It never truly accepts it at first, nor does it process the cold, unyielding truth of mortality. Instead, it occupies itself, distracts itself with benign observations in a desperate attempt to stop entertaining the possibility of such a loss altogether. For instance, Peter always hated hospitals. They reeked of illness thinly-veiled behind sterilization, the food tasted perpetually stale with a rubber-like texture, and death always lingered, perched like a vulture on the shoulders of those who were already dead, yet still walking. Indeed: death, the end, the inevitability of it all, was amplified in a hospital.

But expectation didn’t always make the news any easier.

“We’re sorry, son.” 

“We did all that we could.”

“She just couldn’t hang on any longer.”

Over and over again, like broken records, they kept speaking to him. Repeating nothing but verbatim, white noise. Peter didn’t entertain them with a response, just stared at the tile floor, noticed the tiny flaws in his shoes, the grime and imperfections gained from years of wear and tear. She had bought him these shoes, a pair of red Chuck Taylors he had worn so much that the soles were peeling off the bottom.

“It’s not your fault.”

Peter blinked, and the action stirred something in his eyes. He realized that he was tearing up, despite the heavy lack of emotion in his gut. He felt numb, like an empty husk, yet here he was, sniffling and bringing a trembling hand up to claw at his face, destroying the evidence. “How could you be so sure about that?” His voice came out hoarse, wavering despite his best efforts.

He got no answer but a regretful, melancholic sigh, and footsteps getting quieter as they grew further away from him, disappearing around the corner. Still, Peter did not look up. He couldn’t face reality yet, he wasn’t ready to look it in the face. Maybe one day, but not today. No, he just wanted to go home, but house was no longer home without her to occupy it. That damned vulture had picked that off her carcass, too. Peter was never a big fan of guns, or hunting, but now he wanted to hunt down and shoot that fucking bird himself as revenge for everything it had taken from him. His parents, Uncle Ben, and now…

Peter reached down and untied his laces, then kicked off his shoes with forced effort. His socks were mismatched, one sporting a hole in the heel, but if he stepped on a rusty nail or contracted the plague from one of New York’s rats, then so be it. He couldn’t bring himself to care about anything anymore; tetanus was hardly the forefront of his mind. With that, he stood up, his posture slouched as if a burden had been placed upon his shoulders. He started to walk, one foot in front of the other, yet they still dragged against the floor as though it were a laggy mechanic in a game, the player helpless to fix it. 

“Hey, where are you going, boy?” The voice was gentle, careful, but the sudden grip on Peter’s wrist was firm and borderline disciplinary. He didn’t respond well to that; he whipped his head up to give them a threatening scowl, and swiftly yanked back his hand with such force that it knocked the poor surgeon off-balance. They ungracefully toppled to the floor, visibly shocked that so much strength could be contained in a nerdy teenage boy.

Peter knew it was unfair and downright nasty to do that to someone who was just doing their job, especially since he used the strength factor of his powers, but he could always apologize later. He really wasn’t in the mood to deal with this; he’d reveal himself and web shut the front doors if it meant they’d just let him be.

Peter started towards the exit before his newest adversary had a chance to get back up, shoes held in one hand and bag slung across one shoulder. With every step he took, the intensity of the fluid in his eyes seemed to build, that stinging sensation beginning to hurt. It started to obstruct his vision, so he blinked them away, letting them trail down his cheeks and fall off his jaw line, hitting the floor at his feet. They kept coming; there seemed to be no end to them, and then his breath starting catching in his throat, his nose running like he had a nasty cold.

It didn’t take long to get to the exit, and Peter quickly speed-walked past the receptionist, who knew and recognized him by now. Of course, she tried to stop him. “Hey, Peter? Where are you going?” Key word: tried.

When he heard her voice, Peter stopped momentarily out of a sense of obedience to the only hospital staff who bothered to get to know him at all. He didn’t turn around, responding with a despondent “away.”

“But… where?” Her tone was laced with a thick layer of concern. “You have to stay for a while, okay? We have to sort you out somewhere.”

That’s when Peter’s heightened senses went haywire, alerting him to sudden, unexpected movement towards a security call button below a desk. He took a deep, shaky breath of a sigh. He knew they wouldn’t just let him go. Not after that. Not so quickly. 

“I am sorted out!” Peter snarled back at her, whipping his head around to look her in the eyes. She flinched, that reaction ensuring her hand didn’t touch the button.

“But where are you going?”

Peter turned back round, took his last few steps out of the building he had come to loathe so much, and slammed his shoes into the trash can beside him. “Home.” He growled, but the receptionist couldn’t hear him from this distance. But that was okay, it wasn’t intended for her.

Too bad any sense of home in that place had died with Aunt May.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's just one thing after another, isn't it?  
> Just like Mr. DitKovich's insistent knocking, it never fucking ends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woot I'm on a roll with this story! I might not post for at least another week though, because our show's opened on the 3rd, and we've got performances from tomorrow through to the 11th.  
> Remind me why I pursued professional-level musical theatre acting again? Remind me why all of us in our cast continue to put ourselves through this?  
> And also, yes, I did reference the early 2000s Spidey movies in this chapter. Let's play spot them all! There's only 2 and they're from the same scene of the same movie. God, those films are a lot shittier than I remember them being when I was a wee little kid. Best movies ever.  
> Thank you all so very very much for your kind words on the last chapter. I appreciate them a lot and they're what keep me motivated to do this!

The journey home was gruelling. Peter could walk the streets of New York City blindfolded, and still make his way home from anywhere, but his state of mind was rather pre-occupied. Plus, it wasn’t exactly the cleanest city. Once, he had stepped on a rat, only noticing when it squealed underfoot, before a sickening crack alerted him to the snapping of its spine. Almost made him throw up. Twice, he had nearly landed himself in hot water with the other locals, simply for crashing into them on the sidewalk. Thrice, which was perhaps the grossest of the trifecta, he had stepped in something wet, which his bare socks sucked in and insisted on soaking his feet in the stuff. But despite all the little barriers along the way, all the little reminders that the universe simply didn’t care about Aunt May’s absence, Peter made it home-uh, to their-hm, HIS apartment. He fished his key out of his pocket, and unlocked the door. It never quite closed or opened right, the bolt always stuck inside the latch, yet still it relented with a bit of force.

Peter stepped into the modest apartment, the very same he had been effectively living alone in for weeks now. Looking around, he felt even more nauseous with every familiar item his eyes picked up. Photos lined the shelves of every childhood milestone Peter had made, of every friend, of every embarrassing moment, every crowning achievement. And in every one, without fail, there was Aunt May. Always there, right beside him, his loudest cheerleader and biggest supporter. Even to his friends, she was like a second mother figure. So much love to give, so much light and life, now snuffed out.

Peter heard a hard thunk beside him, and turning his head to the source, he realized it was his bag hitting the floor. He reached down to go pick it up, but his hands were shaking like they did in mid-winter, like every time he’d insist that his Iron Man mittens would get him beat up in the 3rd grade. He’d be shivering, teeth chattering, but stubbornly insisting not to wear them to school. Then Aunt May, knowing she’d never win this fight, taught him that cupping his hands over his mouth and blowing would warm them up… 

Snapping himself out of it, Peter yanked himself back into the cold, hard truth of reality, of the present. First order of business was to take off those damned disgusting socks, which he did daintily, to say the least. Next, toss them in the laundry pile. Check. Next… uh… 

He needed a distraction, a set of instructions clearly laid out for him, some amount of order in this chaotic, unforgiving, unjust world. When nothing made sense, he would make SOMETHING make sense. But what was there to do, other than wallow and steep in the confusing, discombobulating feelings that just kept growing and balling up in his gut like a ball of rubber bands, slowly being added to until they started to snap? 

Knock, knock, knock. 

Peter turned towards the noise, that slow wrapping against the door twisting his intestines in knots. Only one person he knew knocked like it was a game of suspense.

KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK.

More forceful now, angrier, signalling the man on the other side was in a bad mood, which was merit enough to just jump out the window and risk breaking your legs. Guy was a right pushover on the best of days, but that wasn’t to say he wasn’t hard-ass about certain things. Still, Peter couldn’t just ignore him. So, he steeled himself, took a deep breath to temporarily neutralize his complex pile up of feelings. He opened the door, and greeted the man behind it with as pleasant a smile as he could muster up. “Mr. DitKovich!” He greeted, with forced enthusiasm.

Mr. DitKovich’s eyes widened at the sight of the boy before him. “Don’t mean to insult, but in my country, we say you look like shit.” That usually got a laugh out of Peter when he would come home covered in dirt from his latest dumpster dive, but today, all he got was the fall of Peter’s already fake smile. “What’s the matter? Your eyes all red!”

“It’s… nothing. Just tired. Pulled an all-nighter last night.” Peter was getting awfully good at leading people off the trail. His white lie pulled itself off with virtually no effort.

That got him a friendly, enthusiastic cuff to his shoulder. “You are good boy to prioritize your studies. Sometimes I worry TOO good.” 

Peter cut him off before he went on another tangent about how he should go party like every other teenager once in a while. “Why are you here?” He asked, voice clipped and admittedly a little harsh.

Mr. DitKovich looked almost regretful to speak the truth. “I don’t mean to chase, because I know you’re going through a lot with your Aunt right now, so I give you some breathing room. But it’s been 3 weeks. You know our policy.” 

Of course it was the fucking rent. That was just the icing on this whole overbaked cake, wasn’t it? A different emotion started to well up in Peter’s throat now. One he wasn’t known for feeling. He had always been lively, joyful, and when he wasn’t happy, he felt fear and sadness first. It was never this. It was never rage. Frankly, he didn’t know how to express it. It built out of the frustration and anger about the lack of rest, how everything was just piling on, one after the goddamned other. His Aunt just died, he was the last of the Parker line, his friends didn’t even know May was ever sick in the first place because he had done nothing but lie to them to quell their worry, and now he was being reminded of the eviction policy. Can’t make rent for 4 consecutive weeks? Bye-bye.

“-and I really don’t want to have to do that to a nice family like you and your aunt, okay?” Oh. Mr. DitKovich had kept talking, probably justifying this late-stage capitalist bullshit of his. 

Any sense of complacency had now vanished from Peter altogether. He looked up, met his landlord’s eyes with unrelenting firmness, and snarled “You’ll get your rent when you fix this damned DOOR!” like a threatened wolf in a lion’s den. Mr. DitKovich didn’t get a chance to respond before said door slammed on him, and Peter caught a glimpse of his gobsmacked face before it shut loudly, the noise echoing in the empty hall outside. 

Peter slumped down heavily, leaning his back against the door. He held his breath, until he sensed Mr. DitKovich had disappeared up the elevator. The exhale brought with it a shaky sob, one that came unexpectedly. The tears Peter kept trying so hard to block were back again, this time at their full force, and they weren’t taking no for an answer.  
Outside, in that echo chamber of a corridor, a few of Peter’s neighbours had emerged to investigate what the commotion was all about. However, they found nothing. They were blissfully ignorant of the teenage boy currently crying on the other side of the door, his entire body shuddering with the ragged, rough breaths his breathing came in. This boy, just a kid in all regards, was finally collapsing under the weight the world had put on his shoulders, and he brought his knees up to his chest and hugged them tightly in order to duck his head, a makeshift hiding place. He wasn’t making any noise at all, uttering the silent cry that only the well and truly broken can ever master. Finding nothing of interest, the other tenants returned home.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morning routines. It's all so automatic, isn't it? Until it's not.  
> And when it comes to school bullies, what goes around will ultimately come around if they poke the seemingly tamed bear at the wrong time. Or, conversely, try to step on a spider with a nasty bite.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I lied I wrote this in my spare time between shows on my public transit journeys and at night and got y'all a chapter 3!! Honestly I haven't been this into a story in a long time, it's damn refreshing. Once again, thnk you for all your kind comments!! You really keep me alive!!  
> Also, if you wanna discuss Marvel or this fic, my DMs and inbox on tumblr are always open! I'm ceasarslegion!!   
> Enjoy!!!

Peter woke up to the sound of his phone going off in his pocket, the chorus of a classic Ramones song, and one he had grown to hate since setting it as his alarm. A jolt of stiff pain shot through his neck as he automatically moved his head up from its odd, uncomfortable resting place on his shoulder. He tried to roll his shoulder blades to eradicate the muscle irritation, but he found himself still sitting against the door; the same door he had slammed in his landlord’s face the night before. Strange; usually, his spider senses made him a light sleeper, made him jolt awake at every bump and creak in the night.

“Hng,” Peter groaned as he forced his body to cooperate, forced himself to stand despite the ache that now came in waves all over him. His feet dragged against the carpeted floors of the living room, vision blurred from his exhaustion, but muscle memory still led him to the curtains that covered the widows. The light was practically blinding when Peter opened them and let the natural light filter through. “Ugh…” he winced, turning around and heading to the washroom. It was a Monday… He had school on Mondays. Right. Priorities. School came first, to most things. May had taught him tha-

“Stooop iiiit!” Peter whined to himself, giving his cheek a good slap to hopefully jostle his brain enough to drop the thought. He couldn’t be having thoughts like that. No. Not when his finals were weeks away. He needed to go to school, needed to bring his A-game, and first on the mornin docket for an A-game school day was proper hygiene!

It was usually a thoughtless, effortless exercise to shower in the morning. But today, it took him significantly longer, his mind racing, the hot water doing nothing to soothe his aching muscles as he continuously tried to build up the energy to pick up the soap, wash his hair, anything. After 20 minutes, Peter realized it was a hopeless endeavor, and stepped out of the shower without having done any more than stand there. Maybe task number two would be more successful. 

It wasn’t.

Peter’s attempts to care enough to look decent for the day ended in him getting dressed in old, faded sweatpants, and that “I survived my trip to NYC” shirt that Mr. Stark had thrown his way after… yikes… confiscating his suit. Speaking of, he had presence of mind enough to at least clip on that discreet earpiece he had managed to wire together. It had a wireless connection to the AI in his suit, giving him Karen’s uh… totally not snarky advice wherever he wanted. He switched it on with a snap of his fingers over that earpiece.

“You seem distraught.” Karen thoughtfully observed.

“I’m not,” Peter dejectedly replied.

“I’m equipped with a lie detector.” 

“Shut up.” With that, Peter snapped again, and that familiar voice was gone. He wasn’t usually so rude. It was out of character for him, but he really couldn’t deal with mentions of his feelings right now.

Well, task number three. Third time’s a charm, right? 

Peter dragged himself to the kitchen, and halfheartedly poked around, but nothing they-uh… he had seemed to comply with his stomach. He felt downright nauseous at the thought of eating. Eventually, he settled on plain toast, staring blankly into the void while it was heating up, no sense of time or urgency as he waited. When it finally did pop out, Peter took one nibble and his stomach felt like it had turned itself inside out, so he guessed that breakfast just wasn’t happening today. He tossed the wasted toast in the trash, fetched his bag from the floor near the front door, slipped a pair of running shoes on, and headed out into the corridor, locking the door behind him. Well, here goes. Peter didn’t exactly have an easy ride in school, but today already felt worse than ever before.

===================

When Peter came back to his senses, he could feel his teeth ground against each other, nearly at their cracking point. A metallic taste filled his mouth, the skin around his bloody eye surrounded by a painful throb. When he looked down, his fist was clenched, bruises forming on his knuckles, and when he looked around, everyone was staring at the spectacle before them. What the fuck…?

Peter followed their eyes, and the source of their staring made his blood turn to ice. Flash Thompson, Peter’s dedicated bully intent on making his life an absolute nightmare, was covering his face, or, more specifically, his nose, which was bent at an unnatural angle and leaking blood like a faulty faucet leaks water. He was on the ground, staring up at his favourite punching bag with a new, paralyzing fear in his tearful eyes. Huh. So Flash was a crier when he got hurt.

Perhaps not the best thing to be focusing on. Peter jumped back, holding his shaky hands up like he was surrendering. “I… I didn’t mean…” 

“Didn’t mean WHAT, Parker?!” Flash’s voice was distorted from his definitely-broken nose.

“Wow, you did a number on him.” The familiar voice of MJ sounded from behind, but even she sounded genuinely shocked that Peter of all people would flip a lid like this.

“I…” Peter squirmed, backing away more and more with every passing second. He almost escaped, but someone had pushed him back forward, the mob of bystanders making a getaway impossible.

Flash had gotten up now, with a little help from the others. He took a few stomping steps in Peter’s direction, and two firm hands clasped his shoulders. Peter looked to their sources to find Ned and MJ, a look of loyal solidarity towards their friend on their faces. Flash stopped, sized up his group of opponents, and turned back around, forcefully shoving his way through the group of witnesses, who were all giving the trio the stink-eye. “Oh, you just wait until my father sees THIS. Hell, you wait until a TEACHER sees this!” 

Once Flash had stormed off, his threats following him down the hallway, the assembled group seemed to lose their interest, and started to wander off. 

“Dude…” MJ was the first to speak up. “Why’d you wig out like that?” 

Around his friends, the tension Peter felt was starting to dissipate. At the very least, he could speak again. “I was hoping you could tell me.”

MJ and Ned looked at each other, and shrugged in mutual confusion. “He called you Penis Parker again, and you just lost your shit.” Ned explained, looking back at Peter. He was squinting now, like he was studying his best friend closely, suspiciously. “You usually let that stuff go. What’s different about now?”

Under this interrogation, Peter felt like a cornered rat. And you should never corner a rat, because it will always jump, having nothing more to lose. “I’m just tired. Rough night. I’m going home early,” Peter tried to sound firm, but his voice cracked.

“But-” Ned tried to stop him, but Peter used his strength to pry himself from him and MJ’s grip and start towards the exit. From behind, he could hear a desperate friend’s voice, grasping at straws in an attempt to help, to make him feel at least a little better. “Well… You know I’m right here if anything’s bothering you, Pete!”

Peter didn’t bother giving him an answer, just headed right out the front doors. He needed space, he needed air. He needed to get away. 

“My observations indicate you’re in an emotional crisis.” Karen interjected, going rogue and powering herself up, as usual.

“How obstute.” Peter grumbled back. “Look, Karen… I’m not in the mood, so can you leave me alone today unless I ask?”

“I’m designed to help you, Peter, do you remember that?”

“...Yeah.”

“I have a direct line to Tony Stark in case of emergency. Would you like me to call him?” 

Peter gulped. Mr. Stark? No… no, no, no. He didn’t want to go that far. Not at all. Besides, that protocall was most likely for hero-related emergencies. Times when Peter got hurt or desperately needed a hand. Mr. Stark would just be annoyed if he called him because he was sad, of all bloody things. “Don’t,” Peter said adamantly. 

“Peter-”

“Karen, don’t. I just need something to take my mind off it.” Peter slipped his bag off of his shoulder, and dug into it, producing that red mask, part of the persona he never went anywhere without; not even on the worst of days, at the worst of times.

“And if I override your order for the sake of your well-being?” Karen asked, a hint of a challenge in her tone.

“I’ll decode your AI and sell it for the digital equivalent of scrap.” Peter threatened, albeit without sincerity. 

“Well, aren’t you sounding more and more like Mr. Stark.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, you just need a break.   
> Doesn't mean the world will give you one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi!! I'm back!!!   
> I'm sorry this took so long; our show this season killed me, but it went really well! The post-show depression is even bigger now, because it was my last show with this group that's basically become my second family, since I'm going off to university this summer. I've already applied to new groups where I'm going, but I'm gonna miss these guys so much.   
> At least I'll get to see them at the cast party coming up, our next planned brunch, and our lip sync battle for charity (no one knows how to party like theatre troupes party)   
> Being one of the five (5) men of our group and the marvel dork, they keep trying to convince me to reenact Tom Holland's lip sync of Umbrella for when that televised performance in June comes up, and BOY I am TEMPTED   
> It'll either be that or I'm Too Sexy by Right Said Fred lmao  
> Is this how I break from stage acting to film acting  
> Anyway!! Thank you once again for your very kind words and continued support!! It means the WORLD to me!!! Y'all are so awesome and keep me going thank you SO much <3 <3

This was just what he needed. A cool breeze through the fabric of his mask, the familiar thrill of an effortless swing between buildings, the foremost priority being to aim for the next ledge. This was order, this was known, this was the one constant while his life started cracking at the edges. He was the friendly neighbourhood Spider-man, and no one could take THAT away from him! 

Well… maybe Mr. Stark. But that was only one time!

With practiced grace, much more agile than when he had first started this hero business, Peter caught a foothold on the edge of a high-rise, and hopped forward onto more solid ground. From this vantage point, he got an unobstructed view of New York. The skyline was more defined at night, the city itself seemingly glowing with potential, with allure; but during the day, the stains and more slum-like areas were the focus of the sunlight. You got the good, but it didn’t overshadow the bad, or the ugly.

Peter hadn’t really been paying attention to the streets this time, for this outing was for him. Call him selfish, but he figured the bike thieves and petty pickpockets could wait a day to get webbed to a wall by a stubborn teenager in red spandex. He lowered himself and sat down at the ledge, his legs swaying through the air beneath him, dipping into the potential fall that awaited him should he lean too far forward, or startle and lose his balance. That aspect usually scared him, but today, he just felt apathetic at the thought. Looking out over the horizon, he noted all the landmarks, the city’s flags that led him home like lights on a runway.

“Ned’s calling you,” Karen’s robotic voice cut in out of nowhere, making Peter yelp and tense up even more than he already was.

“Stop doing that!” 

“What? Informing you of your best friend’s concern?” Peter could hear the sarcastic ignorance in Karen’s voice. It was difficult to think of her as an AI sometimes. She really did seem like a real person. 

Peter shuffled through the inner pockets of his sleeve cuffs until he found his phone. He had left it on silent, having learned his lesson from the noise it tended to make in undesirable situations. The screensaver showed Ned below the ‘incoming call’ banner, making that stupid face he had when Peter snapped that photo. It didn’t get a chuckle out of him now, just an inner debate. Answer, or not? If he answered, he would no doubt have to explain himself, which would potentially expose his web of lies. If he didn’t, well… Peter had already lost everything else; he couldn’t bear losing Ned, too. 

With an exhausted sigh, Peter slipped off his mask to limit his voice distortion, and swiped across the screen to accept the call, switching it on to speaker. “Hello?” He asked, as though he didn’t know who was on the other end. 

“DUDE!” Was Ned’s immediate response. The personal hurt in his voice was overpowered by the sheer worry, which only made it worse. “What was that all about? You just disappeared on us!”

Maybe his go-to excuse would work this time. “Uh… I had to go, um… Spider-man stuff! You know how it is; a hero’s work is never done!” 

Ned sounded about as convinced as a cow in a slaughterhouse. “Nuh-uh, no, I don’t believe you this time, Pete. I know you, and there has been something off about you for months now, man. And you know what? I let it go, I let you have your space, I didn’t say anything when you kept flaking out on our plans for ‘emergency missions,’ because I thought that you’d come to me when you were ready. I thought ‘oh, Peter just needs some time, he’ll come around!’ and what do I get, huh?” 

Peter’s eyes widened, his jaw clenching. He could feel the heat rising in his face and his brain forgetting how to form sentences in that annoying way it always did when he was caught off-guard. On his pale face, it was like a beacon alerting others to his awkwardness, and even though no one was around to point it out or tempt his temporary inability to speak without a stutter, Peter’s face flashed red. 

“Don’t go quiet on me now, Parker!” Ned fumed, which gave Peter’s phone the illusion of feeling heavier in his hand. 

Peter attempted to speak, but all that came out was an incoherent splutter that barely resembled the structure of an answer. A cold spike shot down his spine, and his hand was starting to tremble as his fingers slowly began to lose their grip. “I… I th-thought tha- wasth a rhetorical questhion?!” 

“Nice composure.” Karen commented through his earpiece, and Peter had to resist the heavy urge to yank that thing out and toss it into 30-storey tall abyss below him.   
Ned was quick to circle back around. “Well, it wasn’t!”

“It was kind of phrased like one, Ned.” Peter pointed out, albeit timidly, like a fat rabbit greeting a ravenous wolf.

“This is painful to listen to.” Karen: ever the realist

Ned laughed. A humorless, unbelieving sound. It didn’t sound like him. “I just want you to talk to me, Pete. That’s it. Seeing you like this, dude… It’s killing me, alright?”

Peter nodded, then realized that Ned couldn’t see him. He opened his mouth to give the affirmative, but he got beaten to it. “You’re nodding, aren’t you?” Wow. They really did know each other better than they knew themselves.

There was a long silence between them, before Peter finally broke it. “Okay, okay… Oh man, okay…” He sniffled, and started hyping himself up, preparing himself for the storm by taking clipped, rapid breaths.

“You got this!” Ned cheered him on encouragingly. 

Peter shut his eyes tight and bared his teeth in a wince as he started to speak, like he was about to rip off a band aid. “I lied to y-WOAH!” And just like that, not having realized how much his hand had been shaking, his phone slipped out of his grip. Peter scrambled to catch it, but his heightened nerves hindered his reflexes and coordination. With gritted teeth, slumped shoulders, and one twitchy eye, Peter watched helplessly as his last connection to his best friend fell 30 storeys, slammed into a poor pigeon during its descent, and landed with a splash into a rather perplexed hot dog vendor’s grease vat.

Peter just stared for a while, his jaw slack and his mouth falling open as he processed what had happened. “Fuck me,” was all he could groan under his breath.

A part of him wanted to fall forward with it, but Peter suppressed that intrusive thought and fell back instead, so he landed on his back with a thud against the hard concrete of the roof, staring up at the sky. He dragged his mask back up to his face in a half-hearted attempt to shield his eyes from the sun.

“Incoming call,” Karen informed him cheerfully, now that his mask’s AI was back online and could receive encrypted calls.

“Ned doesn’t have access to this line…” Peter drawled. Why was she suddenly so happy?

“It’s not Ned.” 

Peter’s blood turned to ice. There were only two people who could contact him this way: Happy, and Tony. One of which, Karen had been trying to convince Peter to talk to. It didn’t take a genius to figure out who was dropping him a line at the worst possible time.

Peter shot back up into a sitting position, wagging a finger in a scolding way at thin air as he spoke frantically. “Karen, NO! Don’t! So help me god, if you even THINK about acceptin-” 

Beep.

A familiar face materialized in Peter’s visor, rugged with experience, good and bad, yet still reflective of the owner’s youthful personality. He looked panicked for the first split-second, but relaxed exponentially when he realized that his call was answered. “Hey, kid.” Mr. Stark greeted. 

“Oh, uh… Hi, Mr. Stark!” Peter called upon all his acting skills to sound as natural as possible. “You need anything?”

“I was gonna ask you the same thing,” Tony said. “Haven’t heard from you in a good long time, and you just went off our radar. Thought you might be in trouble, jesus…” He breathed a sigh of relief. “Don’t do that to me, kid.”

“Oh… Sorry. Wait, went off your radar?”

Tony looked like he’d just been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “Yeah… we planted a tracker in your phone the last time we saw each other. Extra insurance, y’know?”   
Peter squinted. “I just dropped my phone off a 30-storey high-rise.”

“Okay, yeah, that’ll do it.” Tony wasn’t in the slightest bit surprised at Peter’s clumsiness. It was minorly insulting. He turned away from the camera, and shouted behind him “Happy? Set Peter up with a new phone! Give him a brand new one, the works!” After the grumbling that followed, Tony gave an enthusiastic thumbs-up and a “thanks, buddy!” before turning back to speak to his charge. “Hey, speaking of, there was something I wanted to bring up.”

Peter’s eyebrows raised in curiousity. “Oh?”

“You’ve been spending a lot of time in hospitals lately, kid.”


End file.
